


Vengeance

by Dragonheart37



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Broken Bones, Force Choking (Star Wars), Force Lightning (Star Wars), Gen, One Shot, Read at your own discretion, Revenge, Torture, Violence, for whats semi graphically depicted, i cant decide if the graphic violence warning applies, so im just gonna tag very thoroughly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonheart37/pseuds/Dragonheart37
Summary: Duserra finds two of the slavers who had owned her at different times when she was a slave and takes her revenge on them.Older work that never got posted for some reason, probably because this isn't the kind of thing I typically write.
Kudos: 7





	Vengeance

They enter her office, the room she keeps for private meetings with visitors. They're nervous, shaky – wondering why she's called them, no doubt. She lounges back in her chair, deliberately casual, and examines them.

She flicks her wrist, lazily. “Out.”

The guards bow to her and leave. The door closes behind them.

This does not make her guests less nervous. _Good._

One of them dares to speak, hesitant and shaky. “M- my lord. You summoned us?”

“Mm. Yes,” she agrees. “I thought it time to... _catch up,_ after all these years.”

They exchange nervous glances. “My lord?”

That makes her pause. She examines their faces again. Human, both of them; older than she remembers and with more lines from age and harsh suns, but their faces have haunted her nightmares since she was a child. “You don't remember me,” she realizes, and her surprise must show in her voice because they both cringe at the implied insult.

“I... I'm sure I would remember meeting you, my lord,” the second hedges, blue eyes darting around the room.

“Mhm. And yet.”

Uneasy silence; neither wants to ask her again why she's brought them here, but neither wants to admit they don't remember meeting her. She stands, and watches them tense.

It feels _good,_ to see them flinch in fear of having offended her. To have that power over these _monsters -_

She reins herself back in. _Slow down. Savor it. You'll only get it one time._ “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised,” she sighs instead, pacing with slow, languid steps to one side of the room. “It _has_ been a long time. Perhaps if you saw me younger. I would have been younger then. Barely more than a child, really.” She'd been twelve when the first one had owned her. Sixteen when the second had bought her at a Nar Shaddaa auction. She paces the other way, still behind her desk, and feels them follow her movements with their eyes. “Or perhaps in less fine clothes. I certainly didn't own robes like these at the time.” She can feel their confusion, not daring to glance at each other, trying to connect the dots.

She turns, curling her lip away from her teeth in just the hint of a threat. “Or perhaps it would take seeing me in a shock collar for you to remember me,” she growls. Their eyes widen. She stalks forward, one deliberate step at a time. “No? Have you enslaved so many of my people that you can't recognize your own former... _property?_ ”

Their realization, their _fear,_ taints the Force, clouds of shadow curling through the room. Nox inhales it, lets it seep into her mind. She pauses, hovering a breath away from the nearest slaver, close enough to scent the hints of his growing fear on the air.

Then she turns away again, letting the tension ease a little. “Let me jog your memory,” she purrs. “Ferron Kalist. You owned a droid factory at the time, although you sold it off a year ago. You bought me and my sister from a traveling merchant when we were eleven and ten.” She gives him a long stare out of one eye. Watching him squirm makes a deep sense of satisfaction swell in her chest. She turns to look at him full on. “You put us in constant danger working in your factory. You sold me when I grew too big to fit in the gaps in the machinery. You sold _me_ , and kept my sister, my only family.” She feels her lower fangs flash with her words, anger bubbling to the surface. “I never saw her again.”

Silence, so thick you could cut it with a knife. Nox takes a breath, lets her anger ebb like a wave that will roll back in stronger, and stalks across the room. “Ebry Olarn,” she says, calm and cold again. “You own spice mines on a few backwater moons, don't you? All of them worked by slaves, because droids were, in your words, _too expensive in maintenance._ ” She smiles, not at the memory, but at the slow-kindling terror she can feel burning in his gut. “You treated us like animals, do you remember? Of course you do. You're still doing it, after all.” She turns to smile too-bright at him. “You beat me within an inch of my life a _few_ times, if I remember correctly. Which I do.” She tilts her head, still smiling. “Maybe I should return the favor.”

He swallows hard. Kalist is so pale he looks like he might pass out from fear. Olarn takes a shaky breath. “M-my lord,” he stammers. “I- I don't -”

She stalks closer again as he talks, until she's right in front of him, and he chokes on his words, swallowing again. “Please,” he manages at last, the word almost a squeak.

Nox laughs, delighted. “ _Please!_ There's a word I never thought I'd hear you say.” She strokes a finger along his chin, watching him strain as he tries not to lean away from her. “Please _what?_ ”

He twitches. “Please – forgive me, my lord,” he manages.

She laughs again, letting her hand fall onto his chest.

He screams as lightning envelops her hand and lances across his chest in spidery arcs, throwing him backward onto the floor. He scrambles back away from her as she steps closer, one hand raised in a desperate plea. Nox wraps the Force around his throat tight enough to cut off his words and his air before he can plead again, and he spasms as lightning leaps from her fingertips to his body again. She lets him thrash for a solid few seconds before letting it lapse, though she keeps her hold on his throat. “You really should know better than to ask a Sith for mercy,” she growls. “Or do you think I'm that _weak_ just because I'm an alien?”

He couldn't answer if he tried, just chokes and claws at his throat. The Force shifts behind her and Nox turns golden eyes on Kalist, who's backing away. She suspects he would have already tried to flee, if she weren't between him and the only door. She feels his pulse jump from three feet away when she turns to look at him; it makes her blood _sing._ He doesn't even choke out a “My lord” before she's flung out a hand and sent him flying backward. He hits the wall with a _crack_ and crumples; for a moment she's afraid she's killed him too quickly, but he groans and reaches for the back of his head, still alive. For the moment.

She lets Olarn go. He coughs and gasps, desperate for air, and Nox pauses just to drink in the terror swirling in the air and Force around her. Her pulse pounds in her ears, lightning flickering across her skin without burning her. The Force itself sings a demand for blood.

She obliges it.

Nox doesn't know how long they last. Lightning dances around her and through the two slavers, making them scream and thrash. When she grows bored of that, she ignites her lightsaber.

Some might call the lightsaber a crude weapon for torture, compared to lightning, but there _is_ a certain satisfaction in _seeing_ the injuries she causes her old tormentors. Anyway, she isn't in this for information. She's in this for revenge.

At some point Olarn starts gasping for mercy again. She laughs and pins his ruined body up against the wall, leaving him just enough breathing room to choke out words. “Beg me,” she snarls in his face. “Beg me for your life. _Beg!_ ”

He sobs. “Please, m-my lord – I'll d-do anything – anything you w-want, my lord – _please,_ have mercy!”

Nox bares her teeth. The Force surges around and through her as she shoves forward, feeling ribs snap between her hands and the wall. He cries out, too broken to be called a scream, and she snarls, “Begging never saved me.”

When she's finished with them, when she's drained every drop of terror and pain she can crush out of them and consumed it for herself, she leaves them in broken heaps on the floor for the guards to deal with.

* * *

Years later, sitting in a room with Zashiil, she says, “I found Kalist once, you know.”

Zashiil doesn't look at her, but she stiffens at the name of the man who'd separated them. _So she does remember him._ Duserra waits a moment before continuing. “I reminded him who I was, what he'd done to me. To us.” She grins at the memory. “And then I made him _scream._ ”

Zashiil's jaw tightens. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks quietly.

Duserra chuckles. “I figured you'd like to know.” She smiles, narrowing her eyes. “I won't make you say it. I understand the Jedi hangups.”

“Say what?”

“That part of you is glad to know that he paid for what he did to us,” she purrs. “That part of you is glad to know that he suffered.”

Zashiil's lips twitch like she wants to snarl, but she restrains herself. She says nothing. Duserra laughs again, and Zashiil does curl her lip this time. “I may as well not bother denying it; you won't believe me anyway. This is a pointless conversation, _Nox_.”

“Whatever you say, Barsen'thor.”


End file.
